


Corsages Suck (a.k.a. Prom Night, Winchester Style)

by write_light



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bromance, Flashbacks, Horror, M/M, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 14:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_light/pseuds/write_light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as Dean's concerned, what happened at the Winchesters' first (and only) prom can stay in the past – all of it – including the orchid corsage he gave Sam on prom night. But a flesh-eating virus, an ax-wielding maniac, and a telekinetic killer are all being resurrected at prom this year, and the ensuing hunt will open some old wounds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Corsages Suck (a.k.a. Prom Night, Winchester Style)

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Sam, Dean (could be read either way)  
> Genre: Gencest, CaseFic  
> Word Count: 9,800 words  
> Rating: R for violence, mostly  
> Warnings: Horror movie ~~rip-offs~~ homage, grisly diseases, ax murders, telekinetic violence, deaths, teen angst, high school, prom night, corsages, and Sam at 16.  
>  Betas: afg1 & aprylrae  
> Soundtrack: Disco-riffic goodness to listen to and download [HERE on DWM](http://write-light.dreamwidth.org/342075.html) and [HERE on LJ](http://write-light.livejournal.com/385370.html)  
> Spectacular Artwork: by lightthesparks  
> Visit her [ART MASTERPOST](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/87069.html)!

" _At some stage, you've asked somebody out, your proposal has been accepted or rejected, everyone wants to be loved, and that's never more highlighted than the moment of prom. Metaphorically, there is a gun to everybody's head that they have to go with someone and it's so tied into your identity. You are never more vulnerable…_ " – Sean Byrne

 

**Saturday, May 11th, 2013 - Prom Night at Bridgeport High**

Coach Simmons, his face an inch from Kyle Pratt's, barked threats of expulsion, prison, and whatever else he could think of, over the music, his breath laced with stale cigarettes and booze.

"All I did was-" Kyle protested weakly.

Behind the coach, Kyle could see his evening's entertainment, the spiked punchbowl, being carried out as if it contained toxic chemicals.

"That was a whole bottle of Stoli!" Kyle griped.

A thin young man in a caterer's uniform reappeared shortly, carrying a bowl of punch untainted by Kyle's not-so-surreptitious application of vodka. He vanished briefly and returned with gloves, carrying a large ring of ice embedded with fruit to decorate the punchbowl. The coach continued his rant.

"How many drinks have _you_ had?" Kyle interrupted angrily, realizing the enormous mistake he'd made only when the coach stopped yelling entirely and turned pale. Kyle found himself being marched off to the principal on prom night and it almost saved his life.

The thin, unassuming caterer peeled his gloves off with exceptional care, dropped them into a garbage can in the kitchen, tossed his uniform in after them and checked his watch.

***

The girls' restroom mirror at Bridgeport High got a lot of business, especially on prom night.

"Move over, Kerrie, you cow. You're already taking up half the reflection," said Amber, fixing her hair over Kerrie's shoulder. "There's only an hour left in my prom and you're wasting it."

"Leave her alone, Amber. You know she's only got a pity-date that the counselors set up. Seriously, Kerrie, your date doesn't care what you look like. Which is a blueberry, in that dress."

"Nice one, Dawn. Let's get back out there and make sure the votes get counted right."

Kerrie Johansson ignored the girls crowded around and studied her reflection in the mirror, biting her lower lip. She knew she was heavy, but the fact that she'd agreed to take Carl "The Odor" Theodore as her date was supposed to be a secret between her and Mrs. Bohr, the self-appointed "prom matchmaker."

A scream shattered her self-pity and in the mirror she could see something was wrong with the girl next to her. Not just wrong, but deeply, horribly wrong. Faces didn't do _that_. She screamed too.

***

Sam tapped his pencil on his pad, leaving a scattering of tiny black marks, which irritated him even more. Dean was on the bed, and his boots were on the bed too, and he was watching half-naked underage bimbos get devoured by a flesh-eating disease, and he was _enjoying_ it. The room was hot and the open window helped little. The air was still and stifling. Between the ridiculous screams, and Dean's mix of laughs and commentary, Sam was having trouble concentrating on the search for a case.

  "Oh come on, they can't have a flesh-eating virus, Dean," he said, unable to take it any longer.

Dean ignored him briefly, until a commercial came on, but Sam was _facing him_ and that meant 'Don't ignore me.' Dean stared at him blankly, his favorite tactic.

"Viruses don't _eat_ anything, Dean. They could cause tissue damage, but that would have to be a bacteria-"

Dean snored loudly as his head hit the pillow. He opened one eye to see Sam's face. _Victory_ , he thought.

" _Cabin Fever_ established it as a virus, Sam. _Cabin Fever 2_ cannot go against canon."

Sam was momentarily at a loss for words and the movie started up again; Dean was gone.

"Can you turn it down then?" Sam asked after a moment.

"Sure thing," Dean said, recognizing the measured tone. He'd had his fun and Sam in a bad mood was not fun. Not at all.

In the newly quiet night, a car raced past, close to 80-85 miles an hour, Dean guessed, followed by two more.   

Sam was already at the motel window, and caught sight of three more vehicles racing down the main road.

"Those were CDC trucks, Dean."

  From the back window in the bathroom came a piercing scream that sent a shiver up Dean's back.

"You find out what that's all about, I'll follow the convoy," Dean said, grabbing the car keys.

***

Turning the corner behind the motel, Sam quickly found the source of the screaming, a scene he never expected to witness: two girls in the alley, one gripping her friend's arm tightly as the other tried to pull away. Both were wearing garish prom dresses and corsages.

"Do you need help?" Sam asked the girl in front, who strained to get free. Sam could see why immediately – the girl with the death grip begged and pleaded, but her face and neck were mottled red over a sickly greenish tinge that wasn't from the streetlight. As he watched, the rash spread down her arm. The girl in front, in a blue satin gown, was hyperventilating from their running and her panic to get free.

"She was okay when we left!" the girl in blue cried out, finally pulling her arm free and stumbling back, hiding behind Sam.When the sick girl lost her grip, she collapsed, her body blistering up from under the skin as she screamed. There was an awful sound in the now-silent alley as she hit the asphalt face-first. In another minute there wasn't even a body, just a skeleton covered in goo.

Sam and the girl in the blue dress stood transfixed, watching the horror movie play out in front of them. Sam backed away slowly and right into the first girl, scaring both of them. It broke the spell and she started screaming again.

"She touched me!" the girl in blue said, holding out her arm to show Sam the reddening handprint, already bruising. "NOW I'VE GOT IT!" she screamed and tore off her dress and corsage, writhing to escape all contact, even Sam's hand as he tried to look at her more closely.

"Where were you?" Sam asked, trying to calm her down.

"Prom!" she sobbed, and stumbled out of the dress into a run, screaming the entire time. She vanished around the corner into the trees, barefoot in her slip and nothing else.

***  "

No, Sam, I'm not going in on my own.

\--

No, no worries - the gym is barricaded; no one's getting out either. There's FBI, CDC, cops everywhere. I don't see anyone who looks like a Prom Victim."

\--

"Flesh-eating virus for real? _Bacteria_ , whatever. I don't think we want to stick around for this. Better watch yourself for symptoms."

\--

"No this is not just like my movie. That was spiked water bottles SHIT why did you leave your water bottle in the car, Sam?!"

\--

"I'll come get you. We can get in as FBI. Just call if you start turning colors."

***

When Dean returned, he eyed Sam from head to toe before coming in.

"Did you touch any of my stuff?"

"I'm _fine_ , Dean."

"Incubation period. Plus, you're watching my movie. That's not normal behavior."

"Do you know how it ends?" Sam asked, pointing to the blaze on screen, consuming the teens trapped inside the gymnasium.

"Well yeah, but… you don't think they'd really torch the student body on prom night. How could you keep that a secret?"

***  
They left the Impala on a dark side street and mingled with the newly arrived medics, spotting the Agent-in-Charge.  
   
"Special Agent Jacoby, Special Agent Myers, Atlanta Field Office. What's the latest?" Dean announced, briefly flashing ID.  

"We have a full-scale outbreak in the gymnasium and surrounding halls. We've secured all exits. The CDC says we need Wildfire Protocol, and we're waiting on approval."

"Wildfire, really?" Sam asked, trying to sound as knowledgeable as possible.

"No natural immunity for this one. One of their worst, and they say they just "lost a vial". We're treating it as domestic terrorism. Symptoms are identical to what went missing."

"Some psycho did this?" Dean asked, sounding distinctly un-FBI. "I mean, do we know who-"

"The one in your briefing message? We'll get his name soon enough, but he's covered his tracks well. Not well enough to keep us from tracing him here though," the agent said proudly. He held his hand to his ear briefly. "Okay, we're go for Wildfire. You take the south exit doors, make sure the welds hold. Wear head cover; the windows will shatter."

"Won't it get out if the windows break?" Sam asked, having seen the results of infection first hand.

"It won't be alive by then."

Sam was pulling Dean away discreetly, his hand grabbing Dean's jacket from behind. It meant they were in trouble.

"We've got hardhats in the vehicle," Dean said as they headed off toward the Impala.

They saw the canisters go in, the sedatives first, the accelerant second, the igniter last, and they didn't forget the way the doors glowed, or the absolute lack of screaming from inside.

***

"Nobody would copycat _Cabin Fever 2_! It was terrible!" Dean reasoned, hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel to hide how rattled he was.

"Nothing online, nothing on police radio," Sam said. "They wiped out an entire senior class prom and not one word."

"Prom night sucks," Dean said.

Sam was staring at the dark road ahead.

 

 

**Mid-April, 1998 – one month till Prom**

Two girls and two grudgingly recruited boyfriends worked with care to put up an amateurish, hand painted sign promoting Prom. It spelled out "Prom Night at Cleveland High", in every color of paint and no small amount of glitter, and below that in even larger letters, "Tropical Paradise".

Sam watched them all closely as he cleaned the locker he'd been assigned when John enrolled them there two days earlier. Dean slouched against the lockers next to Sam with as much disinterest as he could manage.

After a minute, Dean asked, "Who should I take?"

"Who'd have you?" Sam said, not missing a beat.

"You just watch," was Dean's only retort. He stepped away from the lockers and positioned himself near the poster, gathering his cool. Miranda Stefan was unattainable, the boys at Cleveland told themselves, but Dean had no such preconceptions, nor would he have believed it.

"Hey there," he smiled at Miranda, unavoidably in her way. He turned on the charm. "I wanna take you to the prom."

Sam watched him get shot down, right then and there. It was brutal.

***

 "She didn't have to get all snotty about it," Dean pouted. "It's not Dad's fault we don't have the best clothes." His indignation was turning to anger.

Sam left their father undefended and said only, "You don’t have to be here. You're over 18, you can stop lying about your age and just go." It came out harsher than he intended.

"Not leavin' you alone in a new school, so shut up. Dad'll be back soon enough and we can head out."

"Well if you want your diploma, you'd better pass history this time," Sam said, trying to lighten things up. "And you're about to be late."

"Don't you have class now too? Sam Winchester's never late to class."

"I have study hall, a pass to the library, a couple hundred math problems, and a semester project on flowers due in less than a month. If Dad's going to make us switch schools, he could try not dropping us here mid-semester."

Dean's eyes showed anger, then softened when he realized Sam never liked the changes, no matter how easily he seemed to make friends. Sam was looking at the poster again, avoiding Dean's anger.

"Flowers, Sam? Really? Are you taking home ec?"

"Orchids, Dean. AP Biology. I gotta go."

 

 

 

**Saturday, May 18th, 2013 - Prom night at Hamilton High School**

"It's got all the signs of a copycat, Dean. Reports of an escaped convict, a mysterious death six years ago, and two more this week."

"Does it have Jamie Lee Curtis?" Dean grinned eagerly. "I can't believe I wasn't old enough in 1980. I would've-"

"You were _one year old_ , Dean," Sam replied, grimacing in disappointment mixed with disgust.

"I still would. There, I said it. Digestive issue notwithstanding."

"Dean we need to take this case, before we have a _Prom Night_ murder spree for real.

"Can I be the dashing archaeology professor, then?"

"-and since these are actual high school students we're talking about," Sam continued, ignoring him, "you need to keep your hands off them or you'll be on a sex offender registry before the sun goes down. _If you aren't already_ ," he added under his breath.

"Fine, Sam. It's prom, all over again."

"So, Dean…." Sam paused dramatically. "Will you-" he asked, his voice high and shaky.

"Don't. Don't ask." Dean avoided his gaze.

"Will you go to prom with me?"

Trapped and writhing like a fish in a net, Dean finally whispered an angry "Yes."

***

"We should be going in as cops," Dean said, for the third time that evening.

"The killer would run," Sam repeated calmly, also for the third time.

"But this… so not cool Sam. It's 2013 – is this what you think parents look like?"

"It's an 80s theme prom, Dean. I checked."

"Is this what you think parents in the 80s looked like? Parents looked like our Mom and Dad, Sam – normal. Not like guest stars on _Different Strokes_."

"Relax, you look great – _Mr. Osbourne_." He adjusted Dean's cardigan from behind so Dean wouldn't see him smiling.

"I can hear you laughing, you know."

***

Sam, in a pink shirt and white Miami suit with the sleeves pushed up, looked equally uncomfortable in the end. His hair, in a less-than-hip ponytail, made him look far older than thirty. Dean, in pleated khakis and penny loafers with fresh pennies was envying Sam's white blazer as they stood on the curb in front of Alexander Hamilton High.

A woman pulled up sharply, dropped off her twin daughters at the curb, then leaned across to the passenger side window, phone in one hand, and yelled at Dean.

"You- what's your name? Are you chaperoning?"

"Osbourne, and yes," said Dean, irritated.

"Get my daughters inside. No idea what kind of freaks are staring at them already."

"I'll escort them mys-" was all Dean could say before she sped away from the curb.

"Mom isn't into parenting," said one of the girls. "And we can see ourselves in, thanks - _Dad_." They giggled their way up the steps of the gymnasium.

"It's the cardigan; it kills sex," Dean protested vigorously, but Sam was heading up the steps already.

Less than 20 minutes later, Sam was settled at a side table in the gym, trying to get _Prom Night_ to stream on his laptop and straining to hear it over the music, even with his earjack in. He looked up long enough to shoot Dean a glare but Dean ignored it and focused on the charming and newly single Ms. Clark at his elbow, asking for a slow dance. Sam interrupted them a moment later.

"Dean? Could you help me with the laptop? I can't get the wifi to work."  When this failed to dislodge her, Sam added, "You know how I am with technology...honey," and Dean frowned. 

Ms. Clark, noticing their matching boutonnieres for the first time, drew her own conclusions about their relationship - and her continued losing streak with men - and withdrew instead to a table near the wall, under a poster reminding people to vote for Parent Prom King and Queen.

***

"Remember what I said about jail, Dean?"

"She's over 18."

"She's over 48 but that's beside the point; that other girl you were ogling earlier is the valedictorian." "Kimmy? She's not-"

Dean turned to look for Kim, who was scanning the gym as casually as she could and moving toward an exit.  
"She's seventeen, Dean.""What _is_ it with kids today?"

As he watched, Kim backed toward the door to the main corridor and slipped out.

"Where's she sneaking off to?" Sam asked, following Dean's sight line. "If this guy's copying the movie, she gets attacked soon. We'd better follow her."

"Right behind you, Don Johnson."

***

"Did you see where she went, Dean?"

The darkened high school corridor stretched past lockers and trophy cases, bulletin boards and dark doorways.

"Kim?" Dean whispered loudly.

Posters clung by strands of masking tape, and far off the music pulsed, but Kim didn't answer.

They moved down the dark hall toward a room at the end where light showed under the door.

"Where was she hiding in the movie?" Dean asked quietly.

"They weren't really clear. Her high school had about four floors, a steam boiler, and zero lighting. It was oddly realistic."

Three darkened corridors later, Dean put his finger to his lips then pointed at the shadows moving in the strip of light below a door at the end of the hall. They approached as quietly as they could on the squeaky linoleum. Dean turned the handle quietly and opened it to find Kimberly giving Dave Hammond a blowjob on the desk. Dean backed out quickly, crashing into Sam.

"Jamie Lee Curtis never did _that_ ," Dean gasped. "Well, not in the movie."

"Dean-" Sam interrupted before that thought could take any more disturbing shape.

They stood in the hall for a minute, faces flushed.

"We should probably go in," Dean suggested finally.

"If the killer's around here, shouldn't we just wait?" Sam suggested, equally uncomfortable.

"Sex kills, Sammy. Rule #1 of horror movies. You get a little action on the skinflute, you get a knife through the chest."

 Instead of "How are we related?", the first question to pop to mind, Sam asked "Why aren't they leaving?"

Dean looked into the room again, paused, then shut the door abruptly. He stood there for a while, his face moving as he thought.

"What? Still at it?" Sam asked, exasperated.

"Farther along," Dean said, his voice a mix of shock and sincere admiration.

"You get them out of there and I'll go find some actual parents," Sam said, heading off down the hall.Dean stared at the door anxiously.

"Me? Why do I have to-? _Sam!_ " he half-yelled, but Sam was already gone.

"Okay. I can do this," he told himself. " _Sex is bad. No, unprotected sex is bad. Well, unless it's just-_ "

The ax blade whistled past his ear and slammed halfway through the door beside him. He couldn't see the man's silhouette, but he knew enough to jump aside and reach for his gun as the ax was pulled from the door.

"Okay, Grampa, we're all _done_. Opening the door now!" came Kim's angry voice from inside.

"Stay in there!" Dean yelled, as Kim opened the door and got an ax right in the corsage.

Dean lunged forward and grabbed the attacker. He was tossed nearly the length of the hall, slamming into a display case. When his vision cleared, he saw the ax-wielding maniac coming at him again. He staggered to his feet and dodged another swing of the ax, realizing he needed to put some distance between them.  Hearing the killer close behind him lead Dean to the unpleasant conclusion that he was now Jamie Lee Curtis.

He found himself trapped at a dead end, and spun around, aimed his gun, fired once, mid-torso, then a kill shot to the head. The first shot shook the killer's body, and the ax fell to the floor, Kim's blood spattering on the linoleum where the ax landed with a thud. The second shot had no effect at all that Dean could see – no head snap, no brains on the floor behind, and no sign of slowing the monster.

***

Sam was busy being fake-kidnapped, dragged back into the prom by a group of five wrestlers, and pulled up on stage, protesting. He stopped struggling when he realized the entire gymnasium was watching him with excitement and curiosity. A woman stood next to him already, the woman Dean had been dancing with, now wearing a cheap oversize tiara and a painful expression of embarrassment with a smile plastered over top. Sam felt sure he looked the same, minus the tiara. Until he felt the crown being placed on his head, bobby pins and all. It sagged forward as the room erupted in screams of laughter.

*** 

Dean's gun was pulled from his hands as the killer eyed him, coming forward with something Dean took to be fascination. It retrieved the ax and raised it overhead with both hands… and then stopped. From under its black ski mask came only two words: "You!" - which sounded both angry and surprised, and after a moment, "Awesome!"

It raised the axe again and took a wild swing at him and Dean dodged badly, getting the blunt end of the ax on the back of his head and a long gash down his arm, tearing the cardigan open. The killer stopped, hearing loud screams from the main gymnasium. It turned and ran, more like a man than a crazed ax murderer, and Dean slumped to the floor, hearing only Donna Summer's _Love to Love You_ in the distance.

"Fuck, 'm not gonna die to disco," he slurred, trying to raise himself off the floor. His hand slipped in the blood under him, and his jaw hit the tiles, hard.

***

"Dean! Dean, wake up!" Sam's voice was panicked, partly because of the lump on the back of Dean's head and partly because of the amount of blood that had spilled onto the beige floor.

_The lights were on now. There was sobbing. There was a man in a crown._ Dean faded again.

"Dean, come on! Stay with me!"

_Sirens now. No sobbing, no cold linoleum, no disco music. Still a man in a crown._

"Whassat on your head, Sammy?"

"Slurred speech, that could be an indicator," said the EMT.

"He talks like that all the time when he gets hit in the head. It goes away," Sam explained, as the EMT's eyes widened.

"History of head trauma," he noted on the chart.

"Who made you king?" Dean asked, somewhat more coherently.Sam pulled the crown off, but forgot the rest.

"Parent King of Prom?" Dean smiled groggily, reading the words from the gaudy sash across Sam's chest.

"I kind of got dragged into it, Dean. Look, did you see who came after you?"

"Threw me halfway down the hall without lifting a finger. Telekinesis."

"Definitely head trauma," Sam said quickly to the EMT, but he'd seen the imprint Dean left in the cabinet, a good fifty feet from the storeroom where Kim and Dave were axed.

"Kim?"

  "Dead, and Dave too."

"That's not how _Prom Night_ ended," Dean said, now more alert.

"And two more in the parking lot. Body count is the same."

"Prom night always sucks," Dean said.

Sam just stared at the darkness out the rear windows of the ambulance.

 

 

 

**Early May, 1998 – one week till Prom**

"Still no date?" Dean asked, appearing beside Sam in the halls during break. He was worried, big-brother worried, and that sentiment was what bothered Sam the most.

"Let it go, Dean. Prom isn't the most important thing in the world."

"Neither is a project about orchids."

Sam slammed his locker door and left Dean behind. Dean watched two girls stare at Sam as he passed, and decided to do his brother a favor.

"Ladies," he said, and they ignored him. "Ladies," he said again, catching up to them. "Would you be interested in going to the prom-"

"I have a date already," said Leslie, the shorter, cuter one. "I'll go with you," said Angela.

"-with my brother," Dean added quickly. "I, uh, I already have a date."

 "Riiiight," said Leslie, dubiously. "Miranda warned us about you. You're like 18 and not even graduated yet."

"Miranda's missing out," Dean protested, forgetting his humanitarian mission to get Sam a prom date.

"Your brother's a nerd anyway," Angela added, spurned and not about to let Dean escape unharmed. "All he _does_ is study," she said to Leslie, but when she turned back, her next words faded under the glare Dean was giving her.

***

"One week, Dean. One week and I'm supposed to have samples, data, sketches."

"You'll get it done. You always do," Dean said distractedly.

Sam looked at him, not feeling flattered at all, just irritated that Dean was lying there watching TV again.

"I know I'll get it done, but you could at least take a break from your one class and get us some food and clean up a little, and _oh wait, you're already taking a break_."

"Sammy, ease up, I like horror movies. Or comedies, as I call them. Dad'll be back in two weeks, we'll be gone. Project on carnations won't even matter."

"Orchids." The word had a lot of pain behind it, and cut through Dean's wall of self-satisfaction.

"What do we need from the store?" Dean asked, pulling on his jacket and switching the TV to _Animal Planet_.

***

"So come on, Sam, tell me. Who's the lucky girl?" Dean asked when he saw that Sam had eaten every last bit of Chinese takeout and was, astonishingly, full.

"You aren't going to skip prom just to finish a project, are you?"

"If it gets me into college, yes. Just because you haven't found anyone yet."

Dean was silent. He flipped open his history book, resting it on an empty pork chow mein container. He stayed silent.

"You got a date?" said Sam, both surprised and not surprised. "Who?"

"Caterina Morro."

"She's the one I- She's cute," Sam said, copying a drawing from _Orchid Hunters of the Tropics_ intently as he tried to hide his confusion.

"Yeah, well it's not definite," Dean backpedaled, trying to minimize the damage. "She'll probably talk to Miranda Stefan and then make up some excuse why she can't go with me."

"Miranda Stefan hates the car."

 "What?!"

"I heard her talking in Bio last week. She thinks it's too loud."

"What the hell does she know?"

"That's what I said." 

"Is that why you got detention?"

"Yeah."  

"You're a good brother, Sammy."

"Why are you here, Dean?"

"I skipped gym class. No way am I wearing shorts like that."

"No really, Dean, why are you here? You're nineteen, you can get out of this. You can get a GED anytime. I know you hate it, and I sure as hell don't need you protecting me."

"No, Sam, you don't. You're a scrawny sixteen-year-old brainiac with zits and flood pants and hair like a mop. You might be able to strip and rebuild a handgun," Dean said, lowering his voice briefly, "but you don't need to fight every battle on your own."

"I could fight my battles better without my older brother being an octopus around girls and a grizzly bear around guys."

"Fine. You want to take on high school prom night all by yourself, good luck," Dean said, storming off.

"I'm not going anyway, Dean. You have to have a date to go to prom," Sam said to his textbook.

 

 

 

 

**Saturday, May 25th, 2013 - Prom Night at Bates High School**

"Dammit, Sam, it's prom night everywhere! How do we know where he'll show up?"

"We can still narrow it down, Dean. There aren't that many horror movies about proms-"

 "You haven't been watching enough bad motel cable, Sam. I can think of five off the top of my head."

"We've had _Cabin Fever 2_ and _Prom Night_ already. If that's a trend, it's definitely low-budget cult films. And still no leads from the flesh-eating bacteria school except some mad scientist who stole something out of a Level 4 containment area without being seen. And lots of dark, grainy footage from your starring role as the ax-murderer's victim.

"Victim who survived to tell the story, Sam." Dean raised a finger for emphasis. "That's an important role in every slasher flick."

Sam tuned it out – his laptop had given him some truly useful info.

"Bates High School."

"Huh?" 

"The school was so messed up that the police had four different undercover stings going on. That's the only reason we have this -" Sam swiveled the laptop so Dean could see a picture of a very nerdy looking man. "Larry Preston Weiss of Atlanta, 20 years old, lots of complaints against him, and I mean lots, but no convictions."

Dean waited for Sam to get his thought out. He wouldn't like the result, he knew by the way Sam's face scrunched up..

"You're not going to like this. You're really not."

  "Just give it to me, Sam."

" _Carrie_."

"CARRIE? With all the blood and fire and flipping Travolta's car with her mind, _that_ Carrie?"

"What better prom horror movie is there? And it'll probably be tonight."

"So how do we fight someone like that? He threw me pretty far without even touching me – some kind of freaky telekinesis or something. And I _know_ I shot him in the head; he didn't even flinch."

"We need to understand why he's doing this."

"He's got an ax to grind about high school proms? Get in line. What's not to hate?"

"They aren't that bad, Dean. Not worth killing over."

"Why do they even have them? So people can spend $80 to get a limo, while the rest of the losers pray they make the cut, get asked, get to take part. Give me an out-of-control house party anytime."

***

Sam and Dean scoured the town that surrounded Bates High School like a tangle of barbed wire, each street more desolate than the last. No leads panned out, no one talked.

"This town is full of people who won't say a word about this kid and he's been gone two years now," Dean said, sliding into the Impala. His head hurt.

"And did you notice the psychic reader on Walnut Street is closed?" Sam asked. "There were people who might have known what was going on, and they left town – the palm reader three years ago right before Weiss left town and the psychic right after that. There's only one we haven't tried – a tarot reader who just opened last month."

"Let's go get our cards read, then."

***

The tarot shop was abandoned. Not empty, just abandoned. Food, clothing, everything but the cards left behind in disarray.

"I'm not liking this," Dean said, fingering a half-eaten cheese sandwich. "When Professor Trelawney hits the road, it can't be good."

Sam stared at him.

"What?"

"Harry Potter reference?"

"She was a misunderstood character," Dean said with utter conviction.

Sam shook his head to remove the odd image he had of Dean at that moment.

"We need to get into that prom tonight. Can you still pull off eighteen, Dean?"

Dean was struggling. He wanted to go as much as he didn't want to go. "As students? In tuxes?" he asked, finally.

Sam couldn't be sure if it was hope or fear in Dean's voice when he asked that question.

***

They got mistaken for a couple at the tux rental shop. When it happened again at the prom, Sam suggested the matching carnations were probably a mistake on Dean's part.

"Well I'm not getting you a corsage, Sam. Carnations are good enough. This is work, not a date."

"You don’t look a day over 29."

"I need a drink."

"Stay clear of the punch," Sam said as Dean left, and he saw Dean hesitate, curse silently, and finally turn toward a table of sandwiches, where he proceeded to devour three.

***

"And where's your date, young man?" came the annoying question from a middle-aged woman on Sam's left.

"Oh hi, Mrs. Peller," he said fluidly as he moved his eyes over her nametag and up to meet hers.

"Did you bring some lucky girl to Prom?" she continued in the same persistent tone.

"I uh…" Sam looked around for an unattached girl, and found only a sea of couples.

Dean smiled back and raised a sandwich to him.

"I understand," said Mrs. Peller. "It's that nice young man with the healthy appetite."

Sam's face glowed with shame. "Uh, yeah. He's from um… Kennedy High."

"A local boy! Let me introduce you to Kevin and Matt. You aren't the only gay couple at this prom."

"Oh, no that's… before you do," Sam stalled, "do you remember Larry Weiss?"

Mrs. Peller's demeanor changed dramatically, from domineering kindness to timid wavering.

"No, I can't say as I do."

"Well, I ran into him in Atlanta when we were there on the student government trip, and he spoke well of you."

  Fear flashed over her face."Excuse me," she said, leaving without further explanation.

"What cradle is she off to rob?" Dean asked, rejoining Sam.

"I mentioned Larry Weiss and – she was afraid of him, Dean."

"Well, I got some punch, and some cake, and a compliment on my "date" from two girls at the dessert table," Dean said, a vaguely irritated expression on his face and chocolate frosting across his upper lip.

"Your date?"

"Yeah, they just assumed you were my date. It's all cool now, apparently. Guys at prom together," Dean said, clearly still fitting this information into his view of the world.

"Dean, we need to find out-"

"Come on, Sam, it's Prom, even if they are playing the worst music ever. How many bad songs came out the year I was born?"

"Dean-"

"Think about it, Sam. All those classic disco songs – and me. Thank you so much, 1979."

Sam was trying not to smile, which told Dean he'd succeeded in yanking the stick out.

"Sam, you deserve at least one good prom. I'll check the catwalks – be sure there're no blood buckets up there. I'll keep watch and you go have fun, go dirty dancing, have some of that cake, do whatever you need to do. Seriously, that cake is amazing."

 

 

 

**Mid-May, 1998 – Prom Night, 7:00 pm**

"I got you a tux."

  "I'm not going."

"Well here's an orchid."

"I'm not _going_ , Dean," Sam said, ignoring his brother and attempting to glue together the flower model he'd spent the afternoon cutting, sanding, and painting.

"It's for your project." 

Sam looked up with surprise, only to see Dean closing the door. Outside, the headlights lit the window frame and the window rattled to the Impala's roar. On the table by the door was a gold-colored box with a large cellophane window. Sam swallowed hard.

"Guys wear _boutonnieres_ , Dean. You can't get all your ideas about life from Dad, you know?" Sam shut up when he heard the word "Dad" ringing against the walls of the empty room. John would return in four days, and there wouldn't be another prom with Dean around. He looked at the tux in its protective bag, then hung it in the small closet.

He opened the box and took out the orchid. It was huge, lurid, and ideal for what he intended. He sliced it apart slowly, starting from the base, separating the three sepals, the two petals, and the lip, a single long and luxurious strip of vivid purple. It gave off a heady scent, which Sam noted carefully on his display card, along with its scientific name, common name, and where it was found.

Sam knew what it meant, this corsage. It meant foresight, and weeks of planning, and money wasted on a temporary thing that would be gone in a night. None of that was the Dean most people knew; Sam was the only one who brought it out, and only occasionally. Still, Sam sliced the corsage apart in the name of AP Biology, and because he wasn't going to wear it no matter how much the look on Dean's face would have been worth seeing.

Two hours later, Sam was tired of typing and gluing, and missed Dean. The tux hung in its special plastic cover in the small closet, not at all crowded by the few clothes he and Dean owned. He thought for a long time, then got out a pen and some heavy paper and forged himself a ticket.

***

Sam slipped in past two chaperones deep in conversation; they only briefly wondered why he was so late. From behind the doors of the gym came a pulsing electronic rhythm and then a high, rising voice, singing of love. Sam knew the song – kids in junior high played it to find out what sex sounded like. Not much like that, Sam now realized. He was uneasy, with no idea why.

He pulled open the doors and was hit by the music at full volume, a wash of sweat and sex and moving bodies that he so wanted to be part of, even for one night. He looked around quickly. Dean wasn't on the floor dancing, no surprise. He hadn't been making out in the Impala either; Sam checked there first. He moved through the crowd of moist skin and more than once felt body parts brush his hands or push against his ass. He slid sideways and forward, picking up a whiff of pot and something more chemical, and realized he was moving with the beat.

As he emerged from the other side of the dancing mass, he saw Dean for the first time, in his leather jacket and jeans. No tux for Dean, but an orchid for Sam. It meant something, but even now, Dean was an enigma he hadn't completely figured out. He watched Dean for a while, but Dean was just staring at the ceiling, oblivious to the music, the mass of people, to the room and to life around him.

 

 

 

**Saturday, May 25th, 2013 - Prom Night at Bates High School**

A hundred screams shattered Sam's memory and he could hear a deep bestial roar underneath the high shrieks. That would be the football team, he thought, shaking himself back into the present.

Dean was at his side in a second.

"What the hell's going on?"

"They're announcing prom king and queen."

"Claudia Serrano!!" shrieked a girl up on the stage, and a response shriek came from the circle around Claudia, echoing in the gaudily decorated gymnasium as she made her way up to the stage.

Sam was on high alert, staring up at the stage and the rigging overhead.

"I already checked that," Dean whispered in his ear, the only way to be heard. Sam turned to answer and grazed Dean's cheek as he pressed toward Dean's ear.

"If he's doing _Carrie_ , he'll drop blood on her any minute," Sam whispered back.

"Sammy… Hagar!?" shrieked the girl on the stage and Sam's head snapped forward. The girl seemed a bit perplexed, and the mood was definitely not as wild as when Claudia was picked to be Prom Queen.

"Does some poor kid really have that name?" Dean asked, looking around.

"Dean. You- why did you use that name?" Sam asked, flicking the name tag on Dean's shirt.

"Shit!"

"Sammy Hagar?" the girl called again, and heads were turning toward them.

"Sam, do something!"

"Do what? I didn't put your name in the cup."  

Dean was being tugged toward the stage by the good-natured part of the crowd.

 "Sam!"

"You're Prom King, Dean. I can't stop it," Sam yelled over the increasingly angry reaction that a guest, and a Kennedy student at that, had been named Prom King.

"Remember what happens in the movie, Dean!" he added, but the tumult was huge and Dean showed no sign of hearing him. Several members of the football team had been expecting this award, and seeing a rival get it was not something they could accept.

"So, Claudia who did you come with?" asked the hostess as Dean came on stage.  

"Carlos – he's right there," she grinned, pointing to the front row of the crowd by the stage.

"And you, Sammy, who did you bring?"

Dean was caught in the glare of a stage spotlight and dozens of flashing cameras as a giant bouquet was pushed into his hands.

"He's-" and Dean pointed at Sam, who felt his insides sink like lead weights.

Further questions were forgotten when the first torrent of blood hit Dean's head and splattered onto Claudia's face and dress. The hostess jumped back in shock, falling from the stage. A second bucketload poured over Dean; the glowing red blood covered half his face, his tux, and the stage around him.

Some people were screaming and trying to get away from the stage, others were applauding the person with enough guts to pull off a _Carrie_ moment at a prom. Only Sam and a few angry Prom King wannabees were moving toward the stage.

***

Dean stood still for a minute, unsure if someone had thrown something on him. Everything stopped for a second, and then he felt a second splash of warm liquid hitting his head. It hurt. And it was still warm. And he could taste it. _Blood. But I checked up there._

Before the blood covered his eyes, he saw the windows close and the doors swing shut. Sam was out there, coming for him. And then he lost it. What Sam saw was a pissed off Dean Winchester, a lot like Carrie without the telekinesis but only slightly behind her in destructive power. He needed to find Larry, and had only the poor photo on his phone to go by.

He fought toward Dean, to talk him down, and tried to scan the room at the same time. Larry would be here, watching this unfold. Decorations hanging from the ceiling collapsed, swinging hard through the crowd and killing two girls instantly, one whose neck snapped, and one crushed against the wall by the giant disco ball.

Sam soon found the one person in the room who wasn't scared, a thin young man by the punchbowl. He wasn't even moving, just looking at Dean with malevolence. His eyes rolled up to the lighting rig over the stage and Sam heard metal screaming and tearing apart, as well as screams from the crowd around him. Dean had taken out his gun. He was still directly under the rig, shaking his head like a wet dog, and oblivious to everything but the blood and the man he'd seen now too – the one he wanted to aim for.

" _Oh, shit. Dean, you don't bring out a gun at a prom_ ," Sam thought, looking between Larry and Dean as he fought to reach the stage. Finally he was there - and he stopped on the blood-soaked platform, now empty except for a dripping red Dean with a gun, and Sam, not daring to move. Dean was aiming at Sam, for some reason.

Sam looked up to see the entire structure, lights and all, tear loose and drop nearly thirty feet to the floor. Most of the students had scattered, crushing against immovable exit doors. Dean's face twisted in rage, but his gun remained leveled at Sam's chest. Sam tackled Dean off the stage to the floor below just as the steel structure crashed to the floor behind them. A fire sprang up from the wiring and spread along the papier maché decorations as the students crushed against the doors, trying to escape.

Larry flung a group of students and teachers closest to him aside and the doors opened before him. They slammed shut again when he'd left, a chain winding around the handles by itself. The fire spread faster up the walls and the people still inside were well past panic, clawing over each other to get out, some catching fire as the decorations rained down on them, others paralyzed by fear.

***

"Sam, sorry. He was…he had my arms. I do not want to feel that again."

"Give him time to get home. Carrie went home," Sam said confidently. "We can deal with him there."

"How do we stop him? You've got no mojo anymore, and I'm very suggestible, apparently. Does that mean I'm stupid?" Dean asked, worried, watching Sam's face for an answer.

 "Now, Dean?" Sam yelled over the rising chaos, and then reached up to wipe the blood from Dean's face, a quick tender gesture, one he'd used caring for Dean's injuries just a year before.

"Okay, we follow him home. No, no, wait, I remember that scene, Sam. I’m not getting pulled into Hell. Not for Larry Preston Weiss."

"We get these people out before the place goes up in flames or the roof caves in. Focus, Dean."

***

Sam was at the far end, trying to pry open one set of doors when he heard gunshots and more screams. He winced, and turned to see Dean shooting at a chain until it split.

"Got one open, Sam," he yelled.

"Everyone out that door!" Sam yelled, pointing and trying his best to steer the mob.

Dean fired again, this time into the air.

"In an orderly fashion!" Dean barked.

The transformation in the crowd was immediate. Sam could even say he saw a buddy system take shape.

***

Behind them as they walked, the ruins of the Bates High School prom were being hosed down; frightened kids were picked up by frightened parents. The Winchesters retreated to the shadows, but this darkness was not dark – it was red ambulance lights and blue police strobes, two dozen headlights flickering as people crossed back and forth in front of them. It created a kind of camouflage in the minds of the victims and the brothers vanished into the true darkness at the fence line.

"He's still here, Dean."

Sam's voice carried such certainty that Dean looked around them instantly.

"We saw him leave 15 minutes ago," Dean countered even as he continued scanning the area.

"Carrie was afraid of her own power – this guy's replaying movie scenes, killing to make a point. He's come after you, twice now. Why deviate from the story to chase you with an ax? Why get you up on stage?"

The blood was drying in Dean's hair and down the back of his neck - he could feel it now. It prickled even more as Sam's words sank in. He shook the goose bumps off, but the feeling just kept spreading, down his back and around his chest. He exhaled and couldn't inhale. He coughed and no air came.

 "So smart, Sam. I knew you'd figure it out," said a reedy voice from the park behind the school's back gate, maybe five feet from where they'd stopped.

***

"Sam, you sit here. Every movie needs an audience."

Larry Weiss stepped out into the half-light briefly, his profile flickering red and blue. One hand remained raised in Dean's direction, palm out, fingers grasping the air. He looked hard at Sam and an unseen band wrapped itself around Sam's chest. He pulled the brothers the short distance into the trees and pushed Sam to the ground by a tree trunk. They were invisible in the shadows even if the closest cop had turned to look their way.

"Who- " Dean got out before he gasped hard and got so little for it. He was struggling for air, and Sam was trapped right there in front of him, on his knees by a tree. Larry's eyes said he was ready and able to kill. The light continued to flicker, but it was quiet here, heavy warmth of an early summer and heavier scent of magnolias pressing in on Dean.

"I've heard about you two," said Larry. "All the hunters know you. You're such fucking legends!" His tone was gushing. "When do _I_ get that kind of reputation? I've got _powers_ , man, pretty fucking awesome powers!"

"You're a murderer-" Dean forced out.

"Older brothers. So judgmental; aren't they the worst thing ever?" he asked Sam. "But we're the smart ones, Sam and I are. Right, Dean?" His gaze swiveled back to Dean, a look of eager amusement and confidence.

Dean nodded stiffly.

"Sam'll figure it all out soon enough. He knew I'd be here, just out of sight." He turned to Sam. "Just not _right behind you_ , eh, Sam?" He laughed and his eyes went back to Dean. "Sam just doesn't know _why_ I'm still here."

Sam drew on what he remembered, what he could see, and what he could guess. He knew how hard it could be to have a brother.

"Your family," he said softly, trying not to sound insulting, "…they didn't want you any more."

Larry's anger re-emerged from behind the laughter and Sam could barely breathe as the band around his chest tightened.

"Are you one of Azazel's experiments, Larry?" Sam choked out. "I thought you all died."

"I'm one of God's experiments. Like the X-Men! I got telekinesis!" Larry sounded exuberant now, almost childlike in his excitement. That changed again, in a second, along with his expression, and Sam could feel the pressure on him again. "They didn't like that. They said I killed Mom, but I was thirteen and I couldn't move stuff until I was thirteen and a half, I know that. I wrote it down. I remember the day I moved stuff for the first time."

Dean was reaching slowly, with great effort, toward his back. He watched Sam with quick sidelong looks, but focused on Larry. Sam could see the gun under the back of Dean's shirt, tucked halfway into his pants.

"When Mom died, they watched me day and night. Daddy called me a devil child when he saw me move stuff, but I'm not like you, Sam. This is all mine." His face shifted again, and his eyes were distant. "They put me in the barn and locked me up for good. I even heard them drive away that last time, off on some hunt. It was winter. I heard the snow under the tires, crunching. Like bones cracking. And they left me." He stopped here, his lip twitching. " I got out, of course, when I was strong enough."

"How do you know who we are?" Sam asked.

"My daddy was a hunter," Larry said. "But not for long. He and my brother came back to kill me, a couple years ago. Just when I was having a really good day. I got asked to prom, and I didn't even have to make her ask me." He was looking at the ground, distracted by the memory replaying in his head. "So I stopped them. I stopped a lot of other hunters who caught my trail, but you two – this is big."

***

Sam could feel his arms tingle as the pressure on him increased. He moved his legs slowly to get more leverage, but Larry pushed him hard against a tree with a sharp glance and a power that was stronger than any Sam had ever sensed in himself.

"I know how you feel, Sam," Larry said sympathetically. "I heard the Winchester stories. Daddy told me about all those demon kids, and how I must be one of them, and how I killed Mom -- all the lies and crap they learned from you hunters."

He stopped for a second, and then turned on Dean, eyes cold again. His voice had a harsh mocking tone now.  
  
"Oh, no, I _love_ my brother. Family comes _first_ ," he said, with singsong derision in his voice. "My brother took my Dad's side and didn't trust me ever again. They didn't trust you either, Sam, did they tell you that? Why didn't you leave him behind, Dean? When he was Bad Sam, all dark and evil. When you knew everything he'd done..."

"We did leave him," Dean said, his breaths shallow under the pressure. "Dad and I took him to a pastor our father knew, and we drove off."

"Is that true, Sam?" Larry asked.

"I – they never told me that," Sam said, unsure if Dean's story was true or not. Dean's face looked sincere.

"He was eleven months old," Dean said between huffs of air. His eyes were on Larry, avoiding Sam's face. "He was too much for me to take care of, crying and feeding and diapers and all that bullshit. I was _four_ , for Christ's sake, Sam." Dean turned to look directly at Sam now, his eyes tight with pain. "Dad had enough trouble with _me_. I didn't want a baby brother and he couldn't handle one of us, let alone both."

"Dean, I-"

"You shut up and just… listen, for now, Sam," said Larry, and Sam's voice died away. Larry hung on Dean's words, hearing a kind of apology he'd wanted from his family, and the pressure on Sam's chest diminished.

"Dad couldn't handle having you around, Sam, plain and simple," Dean admitted. "You reminded him of everything we lost. He cried, Sam," Dean said, his voice cracking. "You would have been fine, never remembered us."

"One question though," Sam said, feeling strangely torn. The words sounded real, and awful, but as he hesitated, he saw Dean's left arm reach the gun and lift it slowly free.

"Yeah, Sam. Ask away," Dean sighed, worn out. Dried blood still covered half his face, looking so much like their father's beard that Dean became John, standing there worn and tired.

"Why did you… pick such crap movies to recreate, Larry?" Sam said, looking at their captor with disdain. "That's your real crime."

It threw Larry just enough, Dean's story and Sam's indifference, just long enough, and Dean drew faster than anyone Larry had ever met. Larry Preston Weiss fell, two bullets in his head. Dean added four more, to be sure.

"Dean, that's enough."

"I'm not letting him push them back out like the Terminator did, Sam."

"I still want an answer to my question."

  "Monsters have bad taste in films – there's your answer. God, prom night sucks."

The smell of magnolia was heavy and sickening around them now. Their dim, flickering shadows stretched across Larry's body, and Sam stared at the dark pool of blood forming under him.

"Cops heard that for sure. Let's go," Dean said. He sounded tired.

 

 

**Mid-May, 1998 – Prom Night, 9:45 pm**

Dean was sitting in a chair along the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His clothes were clearly out of place, his attitude even more so. He was alone, Sam realized, dateless for all the big talk of the last month. A wallflower. But that wasn't possible, not with Dean.

Dean looked down suddenly and right at Sam, his eyes taking in the tux, scanning his brother's eyes for clues. Sam tensed, and smiled stiffly. He could see Dean inhaling a long slow breath. There was an equally slow exhale, then he stood up and came toward Sam.

"You can't be here alone," Sam said over the music.

"Caterina wasn't into me, got tired of me or something, said she missed her friends."

"High school is about family, Dean. That's why she's over there, not with you," Sam explained, pointing toward her.  
   
"What are you talking about?"

 "She wanted to be with her family, the people she's with all the time."

"Yeah, well she's pretty clique-y."

"It's not about cliques, it's about who she calls family. Caterina is sitting with Tom and Sheila, but they aren't a clique. They're her best friends since 8th grade."

"How do you know that? We've only been at this school for three weeks."

"I talk to people, Dean."

  " _I_ talk to people-"

"And I listen."

Dean stood there, looking at his little brother, now just a few inches shorter than him. He'd guessed the tux size exactly right. He adjusted Sam's bow tie, balancing it.

"Thanks. Thanks for the orchid," Sam said just as the song ended. His voice carried a bit too far in the crowded gym, and there were snickers.

"You'll get an 'A' on your project," Dean said, pretending to look for new conquests, but finding none.

The music shifted to a slow dance and they were rapidly surrounded by couples deep in embraces, shuffling their feet in small, slow steps, heads bowed into necks, trying to make this new, swaying delight last forever. Dean's expression became increasingly nervous - like he looks when he's cornered, Sam thought.

"So you're my family, guess that means I can at least put my arm around you," Dean said finally, his breath short.

Sam looked up at him, wondering how much longer till they were the same height, eye to eye. Dean's long arm circled around his shoulders, pulling him close to his side. Dean tightened the one-armed hug and Sam did the same, and for a moment they weren't sure what more to do.

 

 

 

**May 28th, 2013 – 1:30 a.m., the day after Prom**

Dean used up three bars of hotel soap in the shower, scraping dried blood from his hair, his neck, and all down his back, trying to forget his third prom in a month – the awful disco music that was stuck in deep now, and the utterly fucked-up high school experiences he'd survived that the last two weeks had brought back in a rush.

He tried to spit out the taste of pig blood, and rubbed his eyes to wipe away the look he'd seen on Sam's face as that knife blade of realization cut into him. But both lingered for days.

Sam came in and out of the bathroom a few times that evening, each time saying nothing and leaving. By the fourth time, Dean was done with his shower and his thinking, and was toweling off.

"Sam, you're letting the warm air out!" he said, annoyed.

"That story you told Larry…"

"Lies, Sam. Demons lie, monsters lie, unless they're telling you the sob story of their tragic lives, in which case they go on and on until you want to kill yourself and them. Hunters can lie too."

"But you and Dad _did_ leave me with Pastor Jim."

"That was for a week, tops. You were eight then. It was a bad case; Dad's first demons."

Sam turned this over for a bit, then left the bathroom without saying anything more. A cold chill of air conditioning swept over Dean's back, and he shivered. For a long time he avoided his reflection and listened to Sam clump around the room, order an extra large pizza, turn on the TV - everything as it should be.

Dean finally closed his eyes and leaned on the cold sink, his lips tight together. He could still see Sam sitting in a makeshift crib in the rectory, looking up at him with large eyes, nearly two months older than when they'd left him there, but still in diapers.

Pastor Jim looked exhausted and angry; he argued with John for a long time. Dean dangled a shiny crucifix above Sam's head, watching him reach for it with tiny hands.

"Forgive me?" he asked.

Sam smiled up at him.

___________  
THE END


End file.
